The Scope Of The Sun
by lupin and black
Summary: Things are changing for the Winchesters. A slightly surreal Winchester tale. AU DeanSam.
1. Act one: The Weaving

_The Scope Of The Sun_

**Warnings**: Underage Wincest: Dean is 18. Sam is 14. Character Death

A/N: This was a pleasure to write, a real pleasure. I hope you enjoy reading it. Please give feedback I want to know if this works as well as I think it does. I would like to thanx the band Live with out their album _The distance To_ _Here_ this would not have been possible.

Act one: The Weaving

Sam sits spread out over the back seat of the Impala. His back braced against the door, long legs stretch out over the seat, feet resting naked in Dean's lap. He's getting too long to sit like this. Another growth spur would retire this position to the field of memory. For now he fits perfect, the weighty metal of the Impala at his back, Dean's fingers strong and solid against his ankle.

John hums along to an old blues song on the radio. His brassy hum bounced along the interior of the car melting into the frame. His fingers banged out a beat on the steering wheel, a habit he picked up from Dean. Sam doubts he's aware of the banging. John's eyes move from the road to the rearview mirror, eyes focus on Sam than Dean before sliding away. The song changes, John's fingers still. Sam tilts his head sideways to watch the rain make tears on the glass. It's been raining for three state lines. It stops, sometimes, in between. They crawl closer to the state line the rain falls in hard pelts hurling themselves against the glass.

Dean's fingers stop there stroking movement, they resting warm unmoving against Sam's bear ankle. He turns to watch his brother, expecting to meet Dean's eyes. It surprises him to see Dean focused out the window, forehead resting against the glass, eyes wide and unblinking. If they where alone Sam would asked him what he saw and Dean would tell him. Here in the car that's impossible. He shifts his feet using his big toe to nudge Dean's belly. He looks away from the window giving Sam a blank gaze. He blinks once, a slow lazy wave of long gold lashes. His fingers start moving, slow even strokes that travel the length of Sam's foot. Sam rests his head back against the glass, a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. If he couldn't know what Dean saw than Dean didn't need to see it.


	2. Act two: The Wane

Forgot this. Disclaimer: The pretty pretty Winchester boys..not mine

Act two: The Wane

They stop for lunch in one of the many strip malls that flake up the American landscape. John gives Dean the car keys. He's meeting a friend, somewhere close. He wants Dean to have the car, just in case. They walk together, the three of them. Dean next to Sam, so close their elbows brush. They're almost of the same height now. Sam only 2 or 3 inches shorter. John walks in front, two steps to the right of Sam. They've always walked this way, Dean on Sam's left, John on the right.John spots the little diner tucked between the female clothing shop and the little electronic hut. He points, glancing back over his shoulder to look at the boys. Dean waits for Sam to respond. Sam drops his head in a nod, John turns and walks towards the diner. The boys follow.

Things had been clam the last few weeks nothing but rain, the road and music. School was out for the summer. Summer always made things easier. They enter the dim small building. The air is thick with the smell of grease and processed food. A small round figured women with a stretched tired face smiles at them and points to a table toward the middle of the shop in front a large dusty window. John sits on the right side of the small wood table, Dean by window Sam at his side. The small women brings them menus, tosses a tight smile in their direction and wanders off. Sam watches her disappear into a back room that must lead to the kitchen. John nudges Sam's foot under the table, he turn to the menu that lay open in front of him. The ends curl up, there's a smudge of something like coffee in the upper right corner, the pictures make the food look artificial almost plastic. Sam can feel John watching, the heavy weight of his stare rest easy on his face. When he looks up John's eyes are focused on his own worn menu. When the waiters comes back they order, Dean flirts. She brings fresh coffee and winks at Dean before disappears in to the backroom. They sit in silence till the food comes. It's not a bad silence, just quiet better than anger.

The food comes. Dean bits into his burger. John puts his pickles on Sam's plate. Sam gives John his tomatoes. Dean steals John's fries shoves them in his mouth with a smile. John gives him the weary resigned look he reserves for when Dean is being silly. Sam smirks into his milkshake. They eat with out talking. John finishes off his second burger and pushes his plate of fries in Dean's direction. Dean smiles down at the fries. John sips his lukewarm coffee, cheeks his watch.

"I should get going. You boys know where the motel is."

Dean nods. "We go it covered dad."

John watches them, eyes moving over their faces. He does that a lot mostly before he's about to run off on a mission by himself.

"You should take us with you."

And John seems surprised by that. Sam asking to go on a mission. He covers it quickly, shakes his head a faint smile on his face. "I've got it covered. You boys will find something to do. Don't cause any trouble. I'll be back in 3 days 4 at the most. Dean take care of my car. If you leave the state leave a message with Bobby and be back here by Friday."

Dean nods finishing off the fries. Sam can't shake the feeling of uneasiness. He hates being left behind. 14 years of this he knows John will be back. He always comes back. It still sting that he goes at all.

John nods once and stands. Dropping money on the table he finishes off his coffee. Leaving the thin white cup in the middle of the table he starts towards the door no question the boy will follow. Dean nudges Sam and they slides out their seats following John.

Stepping out into the chilly afternoon is a bit of a shock. It seems colder since they enter the diner. Too cold for a summer day in the south. Sam curls his bare toes ageist the concrete street. John slips some money in Dean's pocket. He hugs Dean, runs a hand through the blond hair, than reach for Sam, eyes weary. Sam hates that look, the questioning one that lately always seem to be there. He hugs his dad hard and doesn't let go till John pulls away. Dean and Sam stand in front the restaurant watching John walk away. The air is damp heavy with perspiration. Sam knows rain is coming. Dean slides an arm around  
Sam's shoulder and Sam lean into his touch. Melts into it till Dean relaxes around him, both arms coming to warp around Sam's waist. It's stupid to be this open on a sidewalk of a mall in the middle of some country town but Sam feels lost and Dean has always been the only thing that grounds him.

"Motel or car" Dean's voice is a low steady breath in his ear.

"Car"

Dean nudes him forward, arm tight enough to bruise against Sam waist. Sam forces his feet in to motion. They move toward the car.

Sam sits on the back seat naked feet planted on the ground in front him, eyes watching Dean who stood further up the road hands in the pocket of his jeans face tilted up towards the sun.

"It's going to rain." Sam's voice is low. He doesn't doubt that Dean will hear it over the roar of the wind. Dean always hears Sam.

He turns to face Sam. Face bright, eyes whole deep green. "Doesn't mean the sun's not there." His voice is low teasing. Sam looks away from him. Dean is a child of the sun, leafy iridescent all bright greens and golds trapped in the lean lengthy body of a boy. Sam knows the sun smells like Dean.

Dean walks back towards the car key dangling from his finger tips. "Come on Sammy you can drive. Lets move."

Sam stands closing the back door. He takes the keys from Dean who slides in to the passenger side. Sam slips the key in the ignition turns off the radio and puts the car in motion. The streets are half empty but he wants wide open space. He drives back the way they came heading for the flat empty stretch of land he know will be there. Sam like a good Winchester had been driving since his foot could reach the breaks. He only recent learned to love driving for the movement.  
For a handful of moments Dean sits hushed in the passenger seat. Than he's shifting around pulling off his sneaker, he tosses them in the back, his socks follow. He wiggles around trying to getting comfortable. Tucking his feet under him before pulling his legs up to rest bear feet on the seat, he kicks one foot out planting it against the dashboard, one long fingered hand knocks out a beat on his thigh. He always gets prickly, jumpy before a coming storm. Sam shoots him a look, he stills. They drive for miles chasing the sun.


	3. Act three: The Wanderer

Act three: The Wanderer

John stands in front an old brick building, eye turned towards the sky. The sun was still over bright storm clouds where rolling in fast. It would rain soon. John wonders if there will be sun showers. He is 20 minutes late. Dune would be waiting. He came all the way from California for no other reason but this. He opens the door to a small no name pub. It's dark inside, the dark of all drafty drinking establishment that were open in the early afternoon. He nods to the bartender a tall sully looking man with a thick brown beard, hollowed out well used eyes. He orders a beer eyes moving around the place looking for the familiar gray head. He waited for his beer to arrive before making his way over to the tall thin gray haired man in the corner booth at the back of the small room.

Dune didn't look up when John sits across from him just slide the raged leather book he'd been working in across the table. John looks down at the neatly drawn sketch. He knows the 3 figures knows them well. The picture is recent, 30 minutes old from the look of it. The three of them standing in front the restaurant his boys watching as he walked of the page.

"It's a good sketch. You where watching us."

"Looking for you." Dune's voice was as thin as the man.

"Didn't know we were so loud."

"Your not. Winchester very quite very hard to find in the maze of minds but I know what to look for."

He looks up to give John a smile thin lips folding upward, grey eyes wide in a pale sharp angled face.

John sips his beer it taste warm almost flat. He drank it anyway. "You found him."

"Your Demon yes. He's close. He to was looking for Winchesters." Dune long finger poked the picture. "He doesn't know what to look for."

"Are the boys safe?"

He shrugs eyes focused on something above John head. "For now. But we should move fast."

He had expected more. 14 years of looking he had except more feeling than this sudden absolute calm but than what more was there. Killing this demon would not bring back his beautiful Mary. It would not give Dean back his mother, make Sam any less special. He finishes off his beer. In the end this was just another job that needed to be done. A job that might lessen the heavy burden that slacked Dean's shoulders. Might make the look in Sammy eyes less desperate. Give them a chance for something more than this game. Give John a bit of time to rest.

"We should get going it'll be dark soon enough."

Dune nods. Folds up the beat up old leather book and tucks it in the pocket of his worn leather bag. John stops of to pay the bartender and return the glass. He walks with Dune to his small miserable little car. It like everything of Dune's has seen lighter day. John sits crunched in the passenger seat and watches the sky. The rain is coming.


	4. Act four: The Wayside

A/N this took so long in coming becuz I wasn't sure if I should edit to take out some of the sex but in the end I decide to post as is. If I took out the sex there would be nothing. This part is graphic the rest of this fic gets a bit graphic. If that bothers you this would be a good time to stop reading. I don't know if this is censored enough to fit FanFcition stander of M but ….

Act four: The Wayside

They end up somewhere they hadn't been before. It still gives Dean a sharp thrill, finding a new piece of land to touch. He watches, Sam knows Sam feels it too, the swell of something like music just below them. Knows Sam doesn't care. All Sam wants is the coming rain. Sam parks the car in front a run down motel at the end of a long dusty road that leads to nowhere. Dean slides on his sneakers. The urge to leave them off is high but he hates the feeling of concrete under his bare feet. He leaves Sam sitting on the hood of the car to go get them a room.

There is a tall red haired man behind the desk reading a XY magazine, spread open to a picture of a young boy showing his firm butt to the camera, the boy's head is tilted back, he smirk over his shoulder at the lens. The man runs his tongue over his fat bottom lip, moves a thick fore finger in circles over the boy's butt. Dean clears his throat. The man jerks upward slamming the magazine close, he tries to hide it under an old newspaper.

Dean knows the moment the man really sees him. Recognize the lust that smacks him face on. Dean knows what he looks like standing there. Blond hair a bit too long in the front falling into wide hazel eyes, full lips, stubborn chin. A shirt he out grow two years back but could never bring himself to throw out. His jeans where raged and worn through in places, a size too big they hung off his hips exposing a thin line of dark blond hair leading downward into his jeans. He never did remember to buy a belt. He offers the man a smile, leans against the desk, bringing their faces closer. His eyes flicker downward taking in the name Neil imprint on a small blue nametag. Neil gives him a sloppy smile, his gaze moving from Dean's eyes to his mouth to the path of skin on his shoulder that was left bare by his ill fitted t-shirt.

"Hi Neil." Dean tones his voice low. Neil blushes and that's kind of hot. "I need a room."  
Neil forcible jerks himself away from the desk, his hands knotted into fists at his side, he straightens his back tries to look professional, tries to meet Dean's eyes and fails twice before clearing his throat. "What size bed?" His voice breaks on the last word.  
Dean wonders if his pubic hair is red. He runs his eyes from Neil face downward. He's husky not fat, solid enough thick muscled arms. He lets his eyes move upward slowly. When he meets Neil's wide eyed stare he smirks "Big."  
Neil swallows hard Adams apple bobbing about in his throat. Dean laughs and looks out the window. Sam is leaning against the car face tiled up, eyes focused on the darkening sky. Neil follows Dean's line of sight.   
Neil watches Sam, his mouth drops open, tongue darts out to lick dry lips. Dean watches Neil. Watches Neil take in Sam's bear feet, long legs, the way his too small jeans shorts ride up, pulling tight enough to show Sam is defiantly being affected by the lighting flashing over head. The way Sam's shirt flaps in the wind exposing miles of smooth sun tanned skin, the length of his long smooth neck and sharp face just free of baby fat. He watches Neil fall in lust with his baby brother, feel the strain of it in his pants. Neil turns his head slowly from the vision of Sam to meet Dean's eyes. He looks away quickly face a bright red. He clears his throat twice, shifts till his lower half is hidden mostly by the desk. He digs around in a drawer and takes out a smooth sliver key with tarnished sliver keyring. "Umm one room, queen size bed um room 23."  
"That's fine. How much."  
"You can pay in the morning ...when you leave."  
Dean leans half way across the counter and takes the key from Neil's fingers. "It'll only be for a few hours. How much?"  
Neil swallows hard eyes forced on Dean's fingers as they work the key in slow circles. "10 bucks."  
Dean reaches in to his pocket tugging the jeans down low enough to make it clear he's not wearing anything under them. He slips a 10 from his pocket and slides it across the desk. Smirking he pockets the key.  
"Bye Neil." He stretches the name out dragging the L over his tongue, it taste fine.  
He walks slowly from the room taking his time there's no hurry. As he opens the door the sky burst open and rain falls heavy and hard. He steps outside letting the door slam shut behind him. The first drops of rain on warm skin are a shock, a welcomed touch. Sam turns to look at him, eyes half lid and heavy. Sam is a child of the wind and rain. He's all smoky strong lines and chills. Dean puts some speed in his step. Sam reaches for him, he goes willingly in to his brother's arms. He pulls Sam in for a kiss before he can ask, catching the words out of Sam's mouth. Sam melts into the kiss arms closing tight around Dean's neck long thin fingers pulled taunt in Dean's hair. Dean knows knows knows Neil is watching them and maybe this is a little for him but mostly it's for Sammy.

He pushes Sam up against the hood of the car, pushes till Sam sits back on the hood legs spread. Dean steps between them runs his hand over Sam's neck ,cupping Sam's chin, forcing his brother's face upward till his eyes lock on Dean's face. He slips his other hand up under Sam's shirt, runs his fingers over smooth flesh, nips Sam's nipple to hear his tight gasp before moving his hand downward to unbutton the denim shorts, slides the zipper down. Leans in to kiss Sam's mouth, runs his tongue over the full bottom lip sucking hard Sam whimpers in to the kiss. The rain falls on them running down Dean's arms leaving goosebumps in there wake, turning Sam's skin moist, wet under his hand. Dean runs a finger down the thin line of hair that disappears into the shorts. Sam's hips jerk up and Dean like him best like this frantic desperate, he'll take anything Dean ask of him, only a rainy day can get him like this, this open and wanton. Dean pulls his lips away and Sam tries to follow. Dean shakes his head pushing him back. He goes willing, lies drawn out on the hood of the car two fingers sliding into his mouth, his hair damp and sticking to the side of his face, eyes half open and dark. Dean strokes the inside of his thigh and Sam's hips surge upward craving the touch. Dean chuckles, knows the sound will reach Sam's ears even over the howl of the wind. Dean pulls Sam's dick out it's denim casein. He's hard, head dripping pre cum, this won't take long. He moves to the front of the hood giving Neil a good look. He leans forward and takes Sam all the way, in tasting his brother at the back of his throat. Sam whimpers around his fingers sucks hard, hips lifting off the car trying to get in deeper. Dean pulls back and Sam's hips arch up trying to follow the heat of his mouth. He shoves rain soaked hair out of his face before sliding back down sucking hard, resting his hands on Sam's hips and pushing down taking Sam's cock all the way to the back of his throat. He sucks and pulls back lapping at the head, sliding his tongue over the piss slit. Sam's hips shift under his hands, he holds them down his mouth working on the head, pulling back just enough to licking the underside of his dick. He warps his mouth around the hot cock and opens his mouth as wide as it can go, let's Sammy go. Sam bucks up and fucks his mouth. Four thrust and Sam fingers slide out his mouth as he howl into the rain. He shoots hot spurts of come down Dean's throat. Dean keeps him there heavy and warm in his mouth till Sam falls back against the car panting into to the wind. He sucks once just to hear Sam whimper, pulling back to tucking Sam in to his jeans. He reaches to zip him up. Sam's hand shoves his fingers away. He looks up to see Sam sitting up, his eyes laugh. He reaches for Dean, pulls him in for a sloppy deep kiss.  
"That was nice."  
Dean shrugs leaning in for a fast kiss. "Neil wanted a show."  
Sam zips himself up and looks off towards the window. Dean follows his gaze. Neil stands one hand braced against the glass window, his other griping his leaking spent cock, eyes wide, mouth open. Dean turns away to watch Sam who sits legs crossed on the hood of the car, mouth open to catch the taste of the rain. Dean knows Sam always taste of rain.  
"You ready to go inside."  
Sam looks away from the sky to watch him. He lifts and drops his thin shoulders in a shrug. Dean reaches for him and Sam comes willing warps his long legs around Dean's waist. Sam sucks on his ear before whispering in his ear voice desperate and broken. "I want you to fuck me hard and long with your tongue, with your fingers" A sharp bite on his jaw. "With your cock." Dean slaps his ass and shifts Sam's weight. He doesn't bother with a replay.  
And soon too soon Sam will be taller than him and carrying him around will be an impossibility for now he can still brace his arms under Sam's butt and let Sam lean against him, head resting on Dean's shoulder arms tight around his neck, long legs around Dean's waist. He carries Sam to the room put him down to open the door. Sam drapes himself across Dean's back kissing the top of his spine, running a hand along Dean's crotch, rubbing the hardness he finds there. Dean shoves open the door, reaching around him he yanks Sam forward pushing him into the room. Sam's fingers tangle in Dean's shirt as he pulls Dean along with him. The room is dim, the light coming in from outside is over cast by the storm clouds. The bed is big. Dean shuts and locks the door behind him.


	5. Act five: The Watcher

Act five: Watcher

Dune Gray sits on a small uncomfortable chair in a dingy motel room watching John Winchester talk to Missouri on the ugly yellow phone that came with room. John sits hunched forward on the edge of the bed feet planted on the ground, elbows braced on his knees. He talks in a hushed voice worn through with pain.

The Demon is close. Dune can feel, it sticky and dark creeping along the line searching, for John, the boys. They where safe for now, the boys. John, John wanted to be found. The plan was simple enough, find it. Trap it. Destroy it. It was the simple plans that cause the most damage. Nothing about life should break down this easy. Nothing about death should crack so well. Dune sips his tea. It's late, very late tomorrow is just another day for most of the world. If he stretches far enough, search hard enough he can see the boys, bright and vibrant behind his eyes lids.

Dune looked earlier on Johns request. He had seen Sam stretched out on his back, mouth open in a gasp, lean body slick with sweat, Dean curved over him long fingers clutching to the sheets as he moved in Sam. Sam's back curved up off the bed, arching into Dean's thrusts. He was a lovely thing, Samuel Winchester lovely and rare, smoky shifty Sammy. Dean was something new, extraordinary, bright focused Dean. Together they were something unexpected. He tries not to spy on them at times like that but one glimpse was enough to pull him in for the ride. Johns presence had kept him from staying to long. John had stood by patiently waiting for Dune to tell him how the boys where doing. He told John the boys where doing just fine, they where sleeping and safe. John nodded and turned back to his journal asking no more questions.

It was hours later and he couldn't stop himself from tuning into the boys. Knowing what he would see before he looked and still not able to stop the pull. Sam almost folded in half legs flung over Dean's shoulders as Dean fucked into him. Sam's eyes where screwed shut, mouth open, a swap of spit on his chin, lips wet wet wet, fingers clawing at his brother's back. Dean's face was hidden to Dune, buried in the space between Sam's neck and shoulder. His movement was frantic, unfocused his legs shake under his weight, his fingers digging to deep where they rest on Sam's legs. It would be over soon. A sound in the corner brought Dune away from the boys. John hung up the phone and sat watching the wall. It was unclear if he knew what the boys did. It would seem impossible for him not to be aware, not to smell the tangle mix of them and sex, the looks, the touches. The way Sam leaned into Dean. The way Dean curved over Sam. The boys where so tangled together Dune wasn't sure they should be considered two separate beings.

John looks up, dark eyes hollow and hunted. All thoughts of young boys and sex fled Dune's mind. This was a dark time, part of the game was drawing to a close. In games like this even for the winner there was cost. John would suffer, his loss them one step closer to victory. He was a hard man, difficult to please, hurt in ways to lost to heal. For John hurt was the path to righteous. He would not allow himself comfort. Dune did the only thing John Winchester would accept, he sat and said nothing.


	6. Act seven: The Wronged

A/N : You are not seeing wrong and yes I can count. This is part 7. I can't post part 6 here becuz it's basically just sex so I skipped to part 7. If you want to read part six head on over to my Livejournal. Username: Iatethebunny. The story works fine without part 6. Sorry this took so long to post. I hope you enjoy it. Peace

Act seven: The WrongedThis is his end. John thought perhaps it would take more to hold this beast. He feels it move in him knocking around trying to find a way out. This is it. To a point this feels wrong like they should be more than this dirty floor beneath his back, late afternoon sunlight creeping in through the cracks in the window boards, this gnawing clawing feeling in his gut. It shouldn't be this simple, things should end with more turmoil. John knows to many things have been left undone but Dean is newly legal, old enough to take care of Sam who hasn't really needed look after since was 12. Sam is strong he can protect himself. Dean, Dean's always been strong when it comes to protecting Sam. John thinks perhaps Dean will do a better job of it than he. His boys still have a role to play in this game, a role too big for boys so young. He wishes he could have done more, made it easier for them.He tries to move his legs a shock of pain works it's way up his spin, he gives up. The dark curls around the edges of the room. John knows it more loss of sight than the coming night. He feels it the Demon howling for release, clawing and fighting. He feels it's spite, the hot fierce anger and John can smile now, smile and close his eyes let his breath slide out slow and easy. At least he can do this. He should have told his boys more. Should have said I love you in more than a hug. They'll forgive his that, they're good boys, they'll forgive him anything. John blinks twice. The light is dimming. He hears the faint sounds of the room, old floor boards creaking, water trailing through rusted pipes, from almost too far away a rough voice curving around familiar Latin words. Dune is almost finished, the bind is set all that's left is the sealing, soon this to shall past. The space around him has grown dark. His breath sounds wet and ragged to his own ears, he longs for Mary smile, wishes for the sound of his boys.He sees them in his minds eye, as clear as he every saw them in the flesh, Dean stretched out on a hotel bed, skin slick, eyes closed, his arm slung over Sam's shoulder. Dean's chest rises and falls, no frown mars his brow. Sam lay tucked into Dean's side, head on his brother's shoulder, hand resting open palm over Dean's heart. His breath is smooth even, the sleep of a youth with no worries. John feels a surge of regret for not saying more and then they too turn to darkness.


	7. Act eight: The Wraping

Act eight: The Warping

Sam comes awake a moment before Dean. He felt it first but Dean understood it first. Dean's arms come around Sam who falls against him half sobbing just from the feeling of lost and than Sam understands he felt the string pull away than snap. Sam felt the wane and didn't understand till that instant. Their father was dead. Dean clung to Sam face buried against his neck Sam felt the tears Dean would later deny. Sam rest there against Dean till he was wrung empty. Dean pulled away he jumped out the bed limbs moving frantically as he prowls around the room searching for jeans and shirt. Sam sat up so fast he felt the blood rush downward from his head. "Where are you going?" Sam's voice sounds panicked frayed around the edges.

Dean turns to look at his brother eyes wide and anger. "We" He stretched out word. "Sammy we are leaving now. You felt it God. Fucking shit Sammy He's gone we have to find Dad… Missouri somefuckingone he..Dad could be..."

Dean cuts himself off tosses Sam's jeans at his head. Sam pulls them on yanks on the shirt he finds at the foot of the bed. Dad had been gone three days. All night Sam had felt the strings pulling thin he tried to ignored it spurred Dean on, with taunts, heated looks till Dean fucked him hard and desperate against the motel room floor and than again, angry and frantic in the shower before drag him to bed where they fell into a damp sleep tangled together, clinging to each other fighting the thinning that started somewhere and ended nowhere.

Dad had told them to call Bobby if they went traveling. Told them to call Bobby. Told them to be back in 3 days. Sam looked up from his shoes. "He planed it Dean. Dad knew he fucking knew." And the words come out sounding anger than he instead, sounding black and hollowed out. He shoves his other foot in his sneaker. He waits for Dean to say something anything. Dean hardly gives him a look just moves around the room picking up pieces of clothes. Sam stands to help Dean shoving their clothes into their packs, grab their guns and head out to the car.

They dump everything in the backseat. Dean slides behind the wheel taking a deep breath he gives Sam a fleeting pained look and steps on the gas. He doesn't let up till they're in Kansas.

Sam could find Missouri house blindfolded. It's the power that calls to him. He knows with out asking this is where Dean is heading. Dean parks the car half on the sidewalk and hops out. Sam has to run to keep up. The door to the small house swings open with a bang and Dean is moving fast racing up the stairs. It's dark in the house like all the other houses on the block, the whole neighborhood is asleep it's early morning the sun is still in hiding. Dean takes the steps two at a time till he reaches the top step, the door at the back of the hall swings open Dean is marching towards it and Sam runs to catch Dean's arm. He reaches his brother as he stomps into the bedroom. Dean pauses to glares at Sam before turning his full attention on the women in the bed. Missouri sits up in bed her hair a springy mess. She sits there and watches Dean, eyes wide. Surprised as mush as Sam is not.

"Where the fuck is my dad." Dean's voice sounds more desperate than angry. Missouri eyes move from Sam to Dean to where Sam's hand rest on Dean's shoulder. She pushes back the sheets climb slowly out of bed.

"I was expecting you in an hour you must have broken ever speed limited to get hear so early.

"My dad."

"Is dead. You felt the thread snap Dean."

Dean yanks his shoulder away from Sam his fist swings round and smashes into the wall he swings again the wall gives under Dean's assault it crumbles under his fist. Dean raises his hand to swing again, Sam stops him curling his smaller fingers around Dean's bruised knuckle. Dean's eyes lift to meet his, wide and wet, he's breathing to hard and Sam feels lost. Dean is never this desperate this frantic there is no calm in him.

"Dean." Sam's voice sounds pathetic to his own ears.

"I don't know what he wants me to do Sammy."

Sam steps closer to Dean pulls him in wrapping lean arms around him. Sam clings to the back of Dean's shirt. He hasn't felt this young in years. He's never been the one to hold as Dean cried. He forgets always forget Dean is only four years older. Missouri say nothing. Just sits in her rocking chair and watches the night sky.

After a time Dean pulls away. Wipes his cheeks on his forearm sucks in a deep breath rubs the palm of his hand roughly against the front of his jeans he stands momentarily still just breathing before moving to sit on the floor back resting against Missouri bed, head tilted towards the older women, watching demanding. Sam sits next to him close enough to smell Dean, to rest his head against Dean's shoulder, nudge his side till Dean gets the message and wraps an arm around Sam's shoulder, he lends into his brother.

"Did he tell you anything?" Dean's voice is halted and low. It sounds wrong to Sam's ears.

She doesn't look at them when she speaks. "He found the Demon it was the right time. He had Dune help him track it. They came up with something ancient dangerous dark but it would work trap the Demon in hell. It's not coming back." She stops for a moment crosses herself. Sam knows better than to ask questions she was not done speaking.

"The thing with the old ways they always cost more to work. Putting something that deep under you've got to give something. John knew what he was doing you hear me boys he made the trade and it was … it was a good trade his life for yours." She looks at them than eyes bright and wet. "Your daddy cleared the path now it's up to you boys to get things right."

Dean cleared his throat, fingers curled tight in the neck of Sam shirt. "How do we do that?"

"You keep doing what you do best you'll find your way."

"That's all you have to tell me." Dean's voice was tight and Sam wished he could breath for his brother.

"There's not much there Dean the sight doesn't come just because I want it to. Your on the right path I know that."

"It's not enough."

Missouri leans down to pat Dean's cheek. "No child it never is. You boys go on over to your room we'll talk more in the morning."

And they go because there's not much else they can do.


	8. Act nine: Well

A/N This took longer to get out than I hoped it would but there was work and school and than lots of work and cleaning and more work. I haven't touched my computer in awhile but I found the time today to edit this the best I could. I'm still not happy with this part but I don't think I ever will be so I'm just going to post it. This is the last part of _Scope Of The Sun_. I personal love this fic it was a pleasure to write it. I don't know if anyone is still reading this or was ever reading this but I really love this fic and I'm still looking for an editor to look it over and find all the mistakes I still can't find. I hope you enjoy this fic mistakes and all. Peace

Act nine: Well

Dune brought dad's body to Missouri's place. I help her clean him, wash his hair, wipe away the blood. We dress him in a pair of faded jeans and his favorite plaid shirt, it has a hole in the shoulder but it was well worn, well loved. He lived his life in comfort clothes it seem wrong to send him off in anything else. Sam sits in a chair by the door and watches the wind dance outside. He hasn't said a word since early this morning.

The hunters arrive with out summon. Some come in packs other trickle in by themselves. By the time we load up the body and take it down to the cemetery there's a good size gathering. Word travels fast in this circle.

The service is short. Father Jim like most of the hunters who turn up dress in solemn black. I didn't wear black. Couldn't bring myself to put on the black suit Missouri had laid out on the bed this morning. I wear what my dad liked me in best. A pair of worn in jeans, a green Zeppelin shirt Sam stole for me in some thrift shop a few months back in some tourist town on the east coast. Dad always liked me best in green. Sam wears a green shirt that turns his eyes an untainted hazel and a pair of ragged holey jeans, the one dad hated and tried to toss out twice but Sam always found them and save them from the trash. We go barefoot the earth talks to us.

They all stand silent and strangely empty in front the open grave. There is no coffin. We burn the body as hunter practices dictates. We put most of the ashes in a blue glass jar we found in the basement of the old house years ago and bury it next to mom's. The rest we set free in to the late afternoon wind. The grass curls along our feet, the rain falls gentle soft rolling over my skin. The sun does not give way to the rain it hangs bright and sharp in the sky blazing bright light through the angry gray clouds. Sam clings to my hand. I hold on just as tight. Jim speaks words I barely hear. I focus on breathing and grounding Sammy. I trust Jim to say the right things.

When the service is over the hunters head back to Missouri's place. We sit around the kitchen eating and drinking. They talk about Dad the way they always talk about dad with the slight edge of awed worship. This time it was tinted with the slight disbelief that he is gone. I could understand the feeling the lost of his present is the only thing keeping me from forgetting why we were all gathered here. As time slips away they slowly trickle out. All of them pause in front of me to extend offers of help. Some leave behind trinkets of power, wards, symbols, amulets. None of them question that we would give up the hunt. We are Winchesters there is no other way of life for us.

Father Jim and Bobby stay the latest. They wait patiently till the others drift off in their disbelief. Dune is holed up somewhere in the basement with a cures book and a bottle of whiskey.

Father Jim sits us down beside him in the kitchen and prays over us. He shoves a wallet full of money in my hand, a book of Latin into Sam's. He hugs us tight and orders us to come see him in two weeks or he'd hunt us down. He leaves before I can do more than nod my head.

After father Jim is gone I sat for a while in the kitchen eyes close head resting on my folded arms. Sam disappears off down the hall I let him go. It was the first time I let him out of my sight since what seem like forever and yesterday. I want to pull him back into the kitchen sit him down were he would be close enough to touch. I fight the urge to get up and follow him. I need to be alone just for awhile. For a breath to think.

Thoughts didn't come. Just the memory, the feeling of Dad slipping from me. The feeling flexes and grows, solidifies in the back of my mind, as a stone in my chest. I gave up on solitude and seclusion. I need to see Sam.

Bobby sits weighty and quite by the window watching Sam watch the rain. I stand in the doorway for a moment watching Bobby watch Sammy. After the moment has past, Bobby clears his throat and turns to look at me. He speaks in his whiskey burnt voice.

"You boys never called."

I shrug.

"That's got to change. Your Daddy's gone now. You need someone watching your back."

Sam turns to glare at him. "We take care of each other." He looks defiant eyes blazing livid green. His voice is cut raw by hours of silence. Sam had always fought against restrains in any form. Where he learned that has always been a puzzle to me. Maybe it was something he was born with like his hazel eyes and kind smile, a distastes for being confine. Booby didn't look offend just sucks on his cigarette and shares a look with Missouri as she move out the room leaving us to talk. She gives my arm a squeeze as she moves past me. I've never know her to be this silent.

"I understand you Sam. You Winchester were always such a tight knot. But times are changing. You boys are going to need help for the big fight." He turns to watch me as I walk into the room moving toward Sam.

"Dean you've got to understand they know it was your daddy who took down the YED and they will be after you boys. Your top of the shit list. The game has changed. You boys need back-up"

I settle myself on the arm of Sam's chair run a hand up and down his back till I feel him relaxed into the touch. "I know the game has changed Bobby. When we need help we won't be afraid to call."

He nods seeming to take my words as enough.

"Your daddy left some things with me thought you should have them."

"His journal."

"Among other things yes."

"Did you bring them."

He stands stretches his back and walk off down the hall. I shift to sit in the chair beside Sam. He wiggles till he's sitting mostly on top of me. He's get to big for this cuddling shit. I don't push him away just let him curl around me, head resting in the hallow between shoulder and chin. He feels thin in my arms and small in a way he hasn't be in years.

Bobby comes back with a well known bag. He hands it to me I nod my thanks. Run my hand over the worn leather, unzip the bag. The journal is on top I take it out and hand it to Sammy. I'm not ready to see that just yet. There are a bunch of cassettes shoved in the side pocket, some of them are mine. He never did learn to ask before borrowing. His watch, both his and mom's wedding rings, her engagement ring and tons of picture of me and Sam from over the years, a drawing that had Sammy's name on it. The drawing had to be from at lest 10 years ago. There were 3 Polaroid pictures of the 3 of us that are old and worn. Sam is young in all of them 3 maybe 4 I have a vague recollection of the pictures being taken I think it was the first time we stayed at Father Jim for Christmas. At the bottom of the bag is his spare car keys on the thick sliver ring that held the key to our old house, a dark blue shell I had given him on a beach 5 states away over a decade ago. There's an old worn picture of mom burn around the edge, I know he always carried that in his breast pocket. And last a thick old drawing pad.

I give Sam one of the wedding rings Dad's watch and mom's engagement ring he pockets them. I stick the pictures in the journal back pocket, I shove one of the wedding ring and keys in my jeans pocket. I put Sam's old drawing with the pictures. I run my finger over the cover of the drawing pad it's old, tattered. I know this is not the drawing pad he used for the job or the one he used to draw funny pictures and comics to entertain Sam and me. This is the pad he only ever took out late at night when me and Sammy where to busy or tired to ask questions. I flip it open, half curious and half afraid of what I'll find.

The first drawing is of mom me and a tiny baby Sammy on the front porch of our old house. There no data on it but I know it was drawn way back when Sammy was that tiny. The edges are frayed the color is leaking but it still looks good. The one after is of her holding a baby Sammy in a mostly dark room I know is his nursery. There's a data at the bottom it's two days before the fire. The next three are all of mom young and happy looking. In the fourth she looks younger than I remember, younger than the picture he carried in his breast pocket, it must have been how she looked when he first meet her. She was beautiful. I forget that's sometimes. Sometime I can't remember how she looked with out seeing a picture. But I remember the way she smelt like lilac and lavender or baby powered and cookie dough. The next picture is me and Sam curled in a chair a lot like we are now. Sam's drooling on my shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, I'm reading a magazine the cover is a blur of lines. It dated from three years ago but the Sammy and me in the picture are years younger. I always knew my dad could draw, I didn't know he did it so well.

The next drawing is a picture of a landscape so twisted and dark I know that it can't be earth. The two after are a picture of a man that has to be an adult Sam and another that has to be adult me. There are a few more of mom, one were he aged her, she is beautiful in a startling dignified way. I wish I could see her like this. The last few are all places I've never seen. The second to last is a recent picture of me and Sammy curled up in a motel bed in some no name motel along some stretch of road in some state I can't remember. It's dated from 7 days ago. Sammy looks peaceful in sleep. I look relaxed if not peaceful. We are tangled together arms, legs, sheets and all, a bundled mess, we look good. The last is a picture of Sam full grown, tall lean eyes closed as he hugs a full grown version of me. He stands behind me, one long arm warped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. His eyes are closed my are open focused forward. My left hand is tangled with his. He is taller than me. It's not unexpected the way he growing it's bound to happen. I'm older, the line around my eyes more pronounced, hair cut short, I look ragged but not beat. We stand in front the old house. My eyes focused forward.

I stare at the picture for a long time. This is how our dad saw us. I don't know why he told Bobby to give us the drawing pad. He could have told him to burn it. There was something he was trying to tell me with this. Advice, a warning, an offer of peace. I know that I am missing the message. Sam runs a finger over the picture. I shove his hand away he kisses my neck. I close the drawing pad and place it back in the bag with the journal and rest it on the floor next to my feet. I feel Bobby's eyes heavy on me. I wonder if he ever saw the drawing pad. I look up to meet his steady gaze.

"Are you staying Bobby."

"For a while. You boys."

"For awhile."

I turn away from him to the window, the wind blows hard I watch it toss the leaves about. I wish I could see a storm the way Sammy does. But this is good enough. Feeling him warm and relaxed against me. Dad is gone but the journey stays the same. He gave us a job and I intend to get it done…

Fin


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